A Question of Time

especially hard time for Sarah. She prayed at every visit to this unmarked grave, and felt that her prayers were heard; yet it bothered her still, that almost furtive unchristian burial in this unconsecrated ground.

She had certainly baptized the baby before it died, creek water from the Deep Canyon poured from a cupped hand on the small pale forehead, in the time-hallowed private ritual of worried mothers. As indeed Sarah had seen to the more formal baptism of the older girl in church. That had been in California, before she had ever known Edgar Tyrrell…

Lost in her thoughts, Sarah was not aware at first that she was no longer alone. When the fact was borne in upon her, without her quite understanding how, she turned around quickly.

Standing a few paces away, watching her from between two oaks, was a brown-bearded man who at first glance appeared to be about thirty years of age. When he saw that she had noticed him, the watcher, in an obvious gesture of respect, touched the broad brim of his hat.

'Who're you?' Sarah demanded.

There was no immediate answer, and without giving the man much time she repeated her question, sharply.

Patiently he responded, 'One who would like to be your friend, Sarah. I do not believe that you have ever shared willingly in any of your husband's crimes.'

She drew in her breath sharply. 'Sir, my husband has been dead for many years.'

The stranger only shook his head slightly, and showed her the ghost of a smile. 'We both know better than that.'

'What do you want? And how do you know my name?' At this point Sarah paused, belatedly becoming aware of some subtle things about her visitor that put her in mind of Edgar. In a different voice she added: 'I see that you are…'

'Yes. I assume you mean that I have certain things in common with your Edgar; indeed I do. My name for the last few days has been Strangeways, but I have had others. Perhaps you have heard of me under another name.'

Sarah nodded slowly. 'It is possible that I have.' Now she appeared to be frightened.

'Let me assure you again that I mean you no harm.' Her visitor smiled reassuringly, and with a few unhurried steps diminished by half the distance between them. He looked around him, carefully, at their immediate surroundings, the spot that had once been a clearing.

He said: 'I have visited the cemetery near the visitors' center. All who lie there sleep in peace. I had not known till now that another burial ground was here.'

After a pause he added: 'But I believe that only one is buried here.'

'Yes. As far as I know, only one. My own child, who died in infancy. But I—I have forgotten exactly where…?' Tears came to Sarah's old eyes. 'Perhaps I can help.' 'I would be—I would be grateful.'

Sarah was silent then, while her companion moved about, pausing every step or two to gaze intently at the snowy ground. Once or twice he tilted his head, as if he were listening intently.

At last he pointed silently.

The mother came to the spot and looked at it, then raised her head and looked around again. 'Yes,' she said then. 'Yes. Right here.'

After a brief silence, her companion remarked softly: 'I too know what it is to lose a child.'

'Do you?'

The man nodded abstractedly. He looked about him at the clouded sky. He squinted and momentarily lowered his gaze under the brim of his soft hat, as the sun threatened and then failed to break through. Wind murmured in the pines, and a jay screamed, sounding like a spirit tormented by some primal hunger.

At last he said: 'When I, in God's wisdom, am someday granted the privilege of a permanent grave, I could pray for it to be in some such spot as this.'

Sarah stared at him again. This time she perhaps saw something that, for the moment at least, offered reassurance. Presently she said: 'I think that he expected you to come seeking him one day—or someone like you.'

'Indeed? Why?'

'I never knew. Perhaps it was that he had broken some law of your kind, and his…'

'From what I have been able to discover about your husband, I should say that he had good cause to fear our law. Our law does not allow killing without just cause, or the keeping of slaves. Or unprovoked theft, a crime I consider particularly reprehensible.'

Sarah stared out over the Canyon. 'I make no apologies for Edgar,' she said at last. 'He had chosen his own life, as we all do. And he will have to accept the consequences. But I wish…'

Almost half a minute passed before Drakulya asked softly: 'What is it that you wish, Sarah?'

Sarah looked down at the earth again. 'That I had some flowers,' she said, 'to decorate my child's grave.'

Her companion bowed lightly. 'Let me see what I can do.'

He had no need to go far, no trouble in locating several specimens of mistletoe, growing low enough to be easily reachable, on one of the nearby oaks. Mistletoe, the parasite ripening in winter, with one pale berry already on the sprig. No trouble to find, to pull a sample from the tree, to bring it back to the still-grieving mother.

Going down on one knee, with some difficulty, Sarah placed the simple offering on the otherwise completely unmarked grave.

She accepted the help of a strong arm in getting back to her feet.

'Now,' said Mr. Strangeways. 'Will you tell me how the infant died?'

That was a terrible thing for Sarah to talk about, but eventually she managed.

'Then you are not sure that the death was your husband's fault?'

'Not sure, no. I never could be sure. But the doubt—I couldn't stay. I had to get my surviving child away.'

'I see. I understand.'

By silent agreement they had left the unmarked grave behind them now, and were walking slowly back in the direction of paved walks and people.

Sarah asked: 'Are you—working with Mr. Keogh?'

'I am his colleague, yes.'

'Now I can begin to understand how he expected to be able to help me.'

A few minutes later, Sarah and the old vampire were talking freely, back in the Tyrrell House. There, once a smoldering fire was stirred to life, Sarah could be physically warm and comfortable. For the time being they had the place to themselves.

Though she felt she could speak more freely now, still her mind was far from easy. 'He was a good man once, and I loved him. I came to fear him too—I came to fear him terribly, and sometimes I still do—but for all that I love him still.'

'Have you spoken to him, Sarah, since Cathy disappeared?'

'Only very briefly, at the house the other night. Nothing you could call a real communication. About all we did was exchange looks, and curses.' The old woman's voice was hesitant, but Drakulya thought that she was telling the truth. He could not be absolutely sure. Even after five hundred years he was sometimes wrong.

Sarah pleaded with Mr. Strangeways to do all he could to help Cathy. 'I appeal to you as a man of honor. She is still missing, and I am greatly worried, in spite of what the young man told me.'

'If you appeal to me in such a way, then I must do what I can.' He smiled, and patted Sarah's arm. 'Is there anything else?'

'There is another matter, Mr. Strangeways, since you are gentleman enough to ask. I would like, if I could, to protect my nephew from the consequences of his own folly. He is a great fool in many ways, but he is not a vicious man. And he is the only father that Cathy has ever really known.'

Mr. Strangeways frowned.

'At least—if it is possible—can you protect him from serious harm as long as he remains here in the park?'

'I do not promise anything.'